Jasmine and Roses
by Celtic Knot
Summary: Sheppard pops the question. JohnTeyla. Warning: Character death.


**Jasmine and Roses**

John Sheppard stood silently at the entrance to the balcony, one hand behind his back, fingering a small black velvet box. But he wasn't thinking about the box.

He was watching the woman standing at the railing. Teyla Emmagan stared out to sea in the direction of the mainland – her concern for her people was always at the forefront of her mind. She had no idea he was there.

She had no idea how beautiful she was.

A fine, light rain was falling – more of a heavy mist than actual rain – and tiny droplets of water caught in her thick cinnamon hair, shimmering like a million miniscule diamonds. _Or a wedding veil…_ the thought of Teyla dressed all in white took his breath away.

Her slender, graceful figure was silhouetted against the backlit clouds. John knew what it was like to wrap his arms around her small waist, to feel her lithe body melt into his as they kissed, to run his hands up and down the smooth skin of her back, to smell her hair.

The warm, humid breeze carried that distinctive scent toward him now – a combination of jasmine and roses that was uniquely Teyla. It was surprisingly delicate, speaking more of her gentle touch and soft whispers than her formidable fighting skills. He inhaled deeply, his eyes drifting shut. That perfume was… _home._ More so than Earth, or even Atlantis, would ever be.

John could have stood there admiring her forever, but if he didn't do this now, he never would. His heart pounded, and his palms began to sweat. He hadn't been this nervous since… well, ever.

He moved quietly, so as not to break the silence, until he was standing right behind her. Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear the lines of a John Keats poem that seemed to him to have been written about her. _"I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion–"_

Teyla gasped in surprise, and froze.

"_I have shudder'd at it._

_I shudder no more._

_I could be martyr'd for my religion_

_Love is my religion_

_And I could die for that._

_I could die for you."_

Slowly, slowly, Teyla turned around, smiling. "John."

The hand holding the box remained behind his back. His face remained serious as he said, "I need to ask you something."

Teyla's smile fell, leaving a concerned expression in its place. "What is it?"

Time seemed to stop. Here it was – the moment he'd spent months planning for, eagerly awaiting and at the same time dreading. The what-ifs had kept him awake nights for weeks, even those nights when she was by his side. This was the moment upon which the rest of his life hinged – perhaps both of their lives.

It was up to her. With a simple "yes" or "no," she could make him the happiest man in the universe – or destroy all he had to live for.

It all came down to this moment, right now.

He had sworn he wouldn't do it – it seemed so clichéd and cheesy – but now he understood why it was done. He went down on one knee before her, opened the box, and held it up to her. Inside gleamed a diamond ring.

John took a deep breath and asked, "Teyla Emmagan, will you marry me?"

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Colonel John Sheppard woke with tears in his eyes. He fingered the diamond ring he wore on the chain with his dog tags, wishing fervently that that dream had been real.

Not that it would have made a difference. They still would have walked into a Wraith ambush the very next morning. Whether or not he had succumbed to his nerves and walked away, Teyla still would have been killed on that mission.

The image of Teyla standing on that balcony was seared permanently into his mind – that much, at least, had been real. On a piece of paper stuffed in his pocket had been the Keats poem he had memorized, and could still, four years later, recite by heart – an apt way of putting it if ever he'd heard one. But he had never approached her. He'd tried. He'd taken two steps, then, shaking uncontrollably, had turned and fled, cursing his cowardice and vowing to ask her the following night.

He hadn't expected to be _burying _her the following night.

As his tears soaked into his pillow, he could have sworn he heard Teyla's voice, singing that song of hope: _Beyond the night, a rising sun…_

But there was nothing for him _except _the night. _Teyla _had been his rising sun, his hope, his future. The one woman he had ever truly loved – the _only _woman he would ever love. But she was gone, and all he could see before him was darkness.

For an instant, he felt her lips on his, bittersweet. A sorrowful goodbye kiss. His despair had driven away even her ghost – hell, her death was the reason he _believed_ in ghosts. Clinging to the idea that she was not, in fact, gone, was all that had kept him going in these past years. Sometimes he still talked to her.

But now even her ghost had left him, leaving behind only the faint scent of jasmine and roses, and an empty shell in the place of the man who had loved her.


End file.
